A Name Besmirched
by TheSpectrumSings
Summary: Sherlock is dead and Molly cannot believe it. But she has to, because it's the truth, and she has seen for herself, the blood-stained paving slabs in front of Barts. How Molly would have coped of she really thought Sherlock was dead. And then how she would she have coped with his return. Two-Shot. Faintly Sherlolly.
1. Grief

**I don't own Sherlock.**

* * *

Molly Hooper. She was certainly a weakness for him, and Sherlock couldn't afford that. He couldn't afford to worry about another person, and he knew she would be in danger if she showed anymore than friendly regard for her. Even that could be seen as out of the ordinary.  
He couldn't let her help him die. She would have to grieve, along with the rest of his friends, and then their lives could go on.

She made him feel so strongly. A feeling that could topple him down and then build him up higher than ever before. He would do anything for her, but she never asked.  
Why would she? He was Sherlock, the arrogant Detective who was ignorant of her feelings and so never hesitated to hurt them.  
He barely even noticed her, unless he wanted something, whether it be kidneys, and human head, and glance at a smuggler's feet, or help faking his own death._ She was always there. _  
He could have her. No, not like _that_. She could help. Anything he needed. Jumping off a rooftop, or maybe a cup of coffee?  
Molly would have helped him.  
But he couldn't afford to endanger her like that. If Moriarty took notice of Molly, then no doubt she would have an assassin following her, too.  
He knew he could trust her to be discreet if she knew he was alive, but if she knew and tried to contact him, what then? She could ruin his efforts, and get herself hurt. Telling her her was still alive was too risky.

When Moriarty's network was dismantled, he would return, and his friends would be safe, and Sherlock wouldn't have to worry about Molly. He could tell her then.

* * *

Molly Hooper cried all day when she found out. No one tried to console her. Those who cared enough- like John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, had all been dealing with it themselves to be able to help her. That first day has been spent on her sofa, absent-mindedly stroking Toby, silent tears pouring down her face.

Why hadn't he let her help, properly?

He had asked for her keys to the lab, had kissed her cheek, and then had asked her leave.

She had tried to argue but he wouldn't have it. He told it would be too dangerous form her to stay. She knew that wasn't it now.  
He just hadn't wanted anyone to be there to try and stop him when he had jumped off the roof.

He had told her, already, that he thought might have to die, and though she had been concerned, She hadn't been more worried than when any other one of Sherlock's larger cases had turned up. There was always a risk for him, wasn't there, that was why he did it. To alleviate the boredom.

But then he was just _so serious_, and had asked her if she would still believed in him enough to trust him, and _of course_ she said yes. Anything else was unthinkable. She was his, and if he wanted her, needed her, then he could have her. She would help him with anything. But he hadn't wanted anything but her lab keys, and had refused to tell his plan to her.

And now the pacing slabs near the fire exit of the east wing of Bart's, below the window, were stained with the blood of Sherlock Holmes, the Great Consulting Detective, Reichenbach Hero, and _Fraud._

Everyone cried. Those who knew him, and believed in him, and knew he was real cried, but none anymore than Molly Hooper, who soaked Toby's fur with salt water.

She hadn't found out until she had put the news on that morning. It was the first item she saw, before she collapsed on her sofa, her legs giving out.  
She had sent a garbled apology to Mike, saying how she couldn't be in today, but she knew no one would expect her to be in anyway. They all knew how Molly Hooper had foolishly fallen for the Cold-Hearted Detective, who would only ever turn her away.

No one had expected her to be in the second day either, but she was there, sporting red-rimmed eyes, and dark circles, but still there, ready to work, but not ready to talk to anyone about anything further than her work.  
She didn't see Sherlock's body, but why would she? She was doing post-mortems that day, and they knew exactly how he died. She was glad she didn't see it. It would only set her off again.

* * *

She was standing but the grave, after the funeral service when John told her.

"He told me, to tell you that it was all a magic trick. That he was a fraud."

Molly had looked up at John in disbelief. She knew that the rest of the world to think Sherlock was a fake, but John? She hadn't thought he would believe that. He was his best friend. he had seen more proof of Sherlock's abilities than anyone. How could he doubt him?

"Don't you ever believe him. Don't ever think, that Sherlock Holmes was anything but the insensitive smart-arse that he always proved he was."

Molly smiled, sadly, and hooked her arm through John's.  
"Don't worry, I won't believe him. But I do believe _in_ him."


	2. Resurrected

_AN: So this is a bit happier than the last one. Sherlock's back! _  
_Also, I don't think Tom would exist in this AU, because I think if Molly was truly grieving, it would take her a bit longer to move on. There's that, and the fact that I don't like him._

_Disclaimer: Everything here is the BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and ever so slightly Elizabeth Wein._

* * *

"Oh, double drat!" Drat was the most fearsome oath that Molly Hooper ever swore. Her dad hadn't liked swearing, and so she hadn't either. She had always been a daddy's girl.  
When her teens struck swearing had been a sort of rebellion among her friends, and she had joined in with them. Not just because her friends did it, but because she liked the idea of saying something she shouldn't.

Then some years later, tragedy arrived, throwing sprinklings of itself around like confetti. Cancerous confetti.  
Her dad was dying and Molly remembered, unconsciously, how much she hated swearing. It was unconscious only because she had worse things to think of, and so she did not notice the change in herself. Neither did her friends, because this was years later, and the novelty of curse words had worn off. Also, where Molly was concerned, they were trying more to comfort her, than analyse her speech.

On the day of 'double drat', Molly had dropped a glass slide, to have it smashed on the floor. This was the reason for her anger, to have small shards of glass around her.  
She wasn't really a clumsy person. In fact, you had to be incredibly steady-handed to do the job that Molly did, and that was one of the reasons she was so good at it.

Molly hadn't really been distracted. She just hadn't been thinking about the right dead person.  
Her mind ought to have been on analysing the blood of recently deceased Nigel Wythenshawe, but instead she was thinking of _Sherlock Holmes._

Next month would be 2 years since he had died, jumping off the roof of the very hospital Molly was in now. At first she had found it difficult to work in the place that he had died, but then it was normal again, and it didn't matter. Or at least, it mattered less. To everyone else, anyway.

No one really thought Molly had moved on. She was just coping. Molly herself, agrees with everyone. She was just coping. But there is much fun in 'just coping', really.

Two hours after the broken glass, Molly's shift was over, and she went to her locker, to put away her lab coat and get her bag. What she saw reflected in the mirror made her, very briefly, believe in ghosts.

"Shit." Correction, _that_ was the most fearsome oath Molly Hooper swore.

She didn't turn around. She didn't want to. Instead she shut her eyes, with her only goal to keep them shut so she didn't have to face what she had just seen.

She heard him move a few steps forward and place a hand on her shoulder.  
"Get. Off. Me." She snarled, through gritted teeth, her eyes still screwed shut.

"I'm not dead, Molly." He told her, stating the obvious.

Molly snapped. She turned sharply, almost giving herself whiplash.

"You're mean to be, though! 'The late Sherlock Holmes, confirmed deceased', demised! Passed on, bereft of life. I don't care how it's phrased, you aren't alive anymore, Sherlock!"  
Molly paused for breath.  
"You're completely heartless!" She began again. Her voice was rising, and was becoming very hysterical, very quickly. Sherlock could see the tears pooling in her eyes, and was dreading the idea of having to deal with Molly when she was actually crying.  
"I watched everyone heart-broken over you! Everyone has finished grieving." She continued, not thinking of herself in her last statement.

"It was almost okay for you to be dead." Molly whispered finally, hiding her face in her hands.

Sherlock prised her hands away and held her hands to stop them flying back to cover her face. He pulled her closer to him, and tilted her chin to look up at him, but she kept her eyes downcast.  
He was attempting to comfort his emotional Pathologist. He held her that way for almost a minute, as she calmed down, and relaxed.

"I'm sorry."

He was sincere.

"Why are you sorry?" Molly looked up at him. She hiccoughed slightly, but was fairly recovered.

Sherlock was confused by Molly's confusion.

"You just told me exactly why I should be so sorry!" He exclaimed, incredulous.

"Yes, but you aren't meant to agree! You're meant to argue, and tell me all the reasons why you had to do it. That's how it works." Molly explained, trying to make sense of it herself.

"In that case, I'm sorry, but it was the only way to save my friends and take down Moriarty's network."

"Okay. That's okay." Molly accepted, thoughtfully. "Why wouldn't you let me help?" They both knew what she alluded to.

"Because if you had and something went wrong, you would have had an assassin following you as well. Moriarty had thought you didn't count, and that was the only thing protecting you. I didn't want to risk losing that." Sherlock told her, utterly matter-of-fact.

"I wouldn't have minded."

"I would."

Silence.

"I've missed you." She offered next. "You have no idea how many body parts I've thought of saving for you, before I remembered."

"I looked forward to coming back to the lab, then."

"I'll look forward to you being back."

Sherlock was surprised "I thought I was a hinderance to your work when I came to the lab, Molly."

"You've been dead for two years, Sherlock. It'll be a while before you can annoy me. I've missed you so much."

"I'm sorry." He repeated.

"I know. Please don't say it again. You'll make me feel guilty."

Sherlock frowned "Why does me apologising make you feel guilty?"

"Actually, that does sound stupid, doesn't it? I'm not sure why. Maybe because it's so rare coming from you. I feel like I've blackmailed you." Molly concludes.

"I've apologised to you in the past." Sherlock countered.

Molly didn't even consider this. "Doesn't count. That Christmas was the worst I have ever endured. And my old hamster died on Christmas day." She told him, as if that settled it.

"Sentiment." Sherlock dismissed.

"Of course sentiment! I'm not you, Sherlock." Molly reproached. "And anyway, I was 9!"

"You dissected it afterwards." Sherlock stated.

Molly looked sheepish, as if she was admitting a grave sin. "I am aware I was meant hold a funeral for it in the back garden, but it's not like I hadn't loved Humphrey while he was alive. And he did get buried eventually"

Sherlock cut her off. "Are you trying to justify the dissection of your hamster 24 years previously to _me_?" He sounded disbelieving.

"You approve don't you?" Molly asked, trying to hold back a smile.

"Of course. You are one of the best in you profession, and I am not surprised to find that you had a love of science early on."

Molly tried not to blush at the compliment from Sherlock and failed magnificently. To draw attention away from this, she said "You know, I am still incredibly cross with you!" She sounded like a primary school teacher scolding a student.  
"John's going to kill you." She added, laughing to herself and the thought of John's reaction.

"John will be fine." Sherlock countered "I'm going to need him as soon as possible to help with the case I have had to return for."

"Good luck with getting him to agree. You'll be lucky if he even speaks to you."

"He'll be a little surprised, but he will be fine. Eventually." He concludes.

"And how much are you willing to bet that, Sherlock?" Molly asks faux-sweetly.

Sherlock briefly considers telling Molly not to be ridiculous and that he wasn't going to waste his time with silly frivolities. He reconsiders. "I am willing to bet the glory of being right."

Molly giggles, knowing that being right meant almost everything to Sherlock. Though she would have preferred a fiver.

"Alright. I bet you will be back here in about 3 hours, with a bloody nose and an admittance of defeat." She smiled smugly.

"Well, you're already wrong. It will be at least 4 hours. I still have to visit Mrs Hudson." He didn't sound particularly excited about the prospect, but Molly knew he must have missed his beloved housekeep- Landlady.

"And don't forget Greg. He's missed you too." She reminded him.

"Greg? You mean Lestrade? I suppose."

"I swear you get that wrong on purpose." Molly accuses, one eyebrow raised.

"It is an unnecessary detail. I learn it and delete it."

"Why? You don't do that to anyone else!"

"On the contrary Molly, it was almost a month before I deemed your name important enough to remember it."  
Molly bristled at this. Maybe she hadn't missed him as much as he thought.

"Until then you were simply 'The Pathologist'."

Molly considered this. It wasn't quite a compliment, but it wasn't as insulting as before. She would let it go.

"So, what did you do for 2 years?" Molly changed the subject.

"I was tracking Moriarty's men, around the world. I was almost finished when my brother called for my return. A terrorist attack, apparently." He was entirely matter-of-fact.

"Oh dear. On London?" Molly knew Sherlock didn't really do emotion, but she thought he ought to be a bit more worried.

"Yes, London. Should be easy to stop."

Molly calmed a little. A silence went over them.  
Molly considered going back to her work, but that might be a little rude. Though she didn't think Sherlock would mind too much if she did.

"Sherlock, are you trying to procrastinate seeing John?" She asked.

"Only partially. I simply wanted to say that whilst away, I did miss you, Molly. And I also promise not to fake my death again."

"Promise and apology accepted. Now you need to go, because as much as John is going to hate you, he'll be a lot angrier if he finds you put off seeing him just a second longer than you needed to."

Sherlock nodded, a lingered barely a second longer, before turning on his heels and sweeping out, carefully kept coat sweeping behind him.

Molly smiled to herself. She wasn't going to let it go, in fact, she planned to hold Sherlock's supposed death and the hurt it caused over him for a while yet.  
However, for now, she was simply awed by the fact that a man she had imagined dead for 2 years was alive.


End file.
